Countdown: Three
by KJ4
Summary: Ever had one of those days where you wake up in a hospital and you're accused of killing a team of supers, and then a couple of assassins show up to finish you off? No? Then again, maybe it's just a bad day for Bomber.


Disclaimer: As usual, don't own Aberrant or Incredibles. White Wolf and Disney do...wish I owned Aberrant though. "Major Tom" was originally written by Peter Schilling (though Shiny Toy Guns did an awesome cover of it). "Surfing Safari" was performed by the Beach Boys (but I butchered the lyrics enough to make it fit Slapstick's mentality). Okay, that should cover the legalese.

Author's Notes: Okay, I had a lot more for this, but I realized it was going nowhere and preventing me from wrapping up the Countdowns. However, some of that material will creep up elsewhere (*cough*WoA*cough*).

As usual, I want to thank Nullchronicler, Concolor, Walker, Shannon (and congrats!), Zarthrax and the crazy Plothook crew (who have overloaded my muses and made them seek therapy), and anyone else crazy enough to stick around for this story....yes, that means you Cyrus, Artificus, Shahrezad, and Pixfan (and yes, Damon is showing up in the next installment and will be around for WoA).

Crazystick, you are a sick bastard...and I hope I did your character justice.

Oh...and for those of you who are wondering, Klaus Kleisner is the nova Elite called Totentanz. He's an all around badass assassin. He uses a couple of short battle-spears as his primary weapons.

As I said before, I had a lot more for this, but it was bogging things down, so I kept what I thought was important to keep things moving. And yes...there is a small body count...happy?

* * *

_Calling all Elites with an axe to grind! Your favorite annoying bastard, Jean-Paul Renard aka "Bomber" is currently in Utopia custody at Mercy Memorial Hospital in San Francisco...come one, come all...and happy hunting!_

_-Anonymous post, MercNet, the Opnet site for Elites and those who watch them._

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* * *

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**Mercy Memorial Hospital**

**San Francisco, California**

_**Beep….Beep….Beep….Beep…**_

Jason Miller prided himself on the fact that almost nothing could faze him. "Borderline sociopath" was the term he had been given when he was younger. He didn't show much emotionally, but that was hardly a concern. The emotion he did display was usually that of defiance and arrogance; after all, that is what one should expect of a young man in his twenties and heir to his dead father's fortune. When his father died nine years ago, Jason not only inherited his father's holdings, but he also inherited his father's position in the Aeon Society which eventually led to his joining the secretive Proteus Council.

He learned very quickly to suppress his true feelings behind a mask, a cold and arrogant facade...it wasn't hard, he had very few friends growing up, so being aloof, distant, and arrogant came naturally. Very few people knew the real Jason Miller.

_**Beep...Beep....Beep....Beep....**_

Except for the comatose young woman occupying the hospital bed he stood next to. Blazestone...Tanya Mitchell...didn't matter. People knew her name; after all, she was a Utopia sponsored super. One of the "modern gods" of today.

Jason smirked at that thought.

_Some gods we turned out to be...we're being picked off one by one by a fucking psycho._

"Hey, sis," he said, his voice unusually soft and missing his normal flippant tone. "I just wanted to check up on you. I know we kind of drifted apart, but I always thought I'd be the one who'd end up comatose and dead to the world."

He shook his head as a bitter chuckled escaped his throat. Even though Tanya was his half-sister, she was the only family he had left. They may not have gotten along all the time, but they would keep in contact and even occasionally meet up for the holidays.

"I'm sorry, Tanya...I really fucked up this time."

He paused, half expecting her to open her eyes and say "So what else is new?", but that didn't happen.

"Even though I voted against it, the Council decided to let that crazy fucker out...just to kill some little bastard who really wouldn't be a bother if we just left him alone....now it's all fucked up." Jason turned to look out the window, watching the sun set off in the distance, the city of San Francisco momentarily bathed in an eerie orange glow...the kind of glow one would see in the smoldering embers of a dying fire. Jason never considered himself a religious man, but he prayed to God that the scene was not a sign of what was going to happen to his sister.

"In addition to hurting you and killing your team, he killed over a million people in less than a week. And while I opposed his being released, I still blame myself for it. There are a couple others that feel the same way, but the rest of the council...they just want to play God and don't give a damn if the world burns. I thought I could help curb it, control it, but it's getting out of control. What scares me is that I think this is only the beginning and I don't even know how to stop it."

He smiled sadly at Tanya's unconscious form. "You know, the Council and Utopia directors see me as this cold and heartless little bastard who doesn't care about the decisions he has to make. I have to admit, having that kind of rep intimidates assholes who would normally give me a hard time, but let's face it...you were always the strong one. You could take a situation like that and figure out how to deal with it...until now. I just wish you were able to smack me around and talk some sense into me...but that's not going to happen anytime soon. The doctors say your condition is rare, not many novas have been in a coma like you. For once, the great Utopia experts on novas have no fucking clue on how to deal with a situation like yours."

He bent down and kissed her on the forehead before brushing a strand of red hair out of her face.

"Just do me a favor and don't check out on me, okay?"

The only response he got was the steady beep of the monitoring equipment. As he walked out of the room, he almost regretted lying to his sister. Actually, it wasn't a lie...he really didn't know what to do, but that didn't stop him from taking action. He had learned that the rogue elite known as Bomber had saved his sister's life. Unfortunately, someone high up in Utopia (or more likely in the Council) decided to let Bomber take the blame for the attack on San Francisco. After talking to some of the Utopia investigators on the scene, his suspicions were confirmed. So he decided to through a wrench in things by anonymously tipping off members of the Elite mercenary community that the bane to their existence was half comatose in San Francisco. The distraction provided by their appearance would give Bomber a chance to escape.

All Jason had to do now was make sure Bomber was conscious enough to make his attempt.

* * * * *

Klaus Kleisner quietly stalked his way through the fourth floor. Invisible to the human eye, his eufiber body suit muffling his footsteps as he deftly made his way down a corridor, he took a moment to contemplate his target. Some would say that targeting Jean-Paul Renard while he was at his weakest would be poor form, and a lack of professionalism on his part.

But as far as Klaus was concerned, Renard was a blight on this profession, one that had to be put down. The bastard didn't have the good grace to die when he was impaled, tossed from the top of a building, shot, and blown up. Every time they clashed, Renard just wouldn't die and always buried him under whatever building they were fighting in.

_But not this time...this time, Renard...you will die._

* * * * *

_**Beep….Beep….Beep….Beep…**_

_Dammit, I really hate that beeping noise._

Jean didn't open his eyes this time when he saw the blackness. His jaw still hurt like hell and he was having a hard time trying to keep a firm hold on consciousness.

_Okay…how long have I been out?_

"He's awake," he heard the rough voice say. "Want me to punch him out again?"

"No need," said another voice, this one belonging to a woman. "He's too juiced up now on 'Mox and has enough sedative running through his body to kill an elephant."

"Damn," someone else muttered. "What level is he?"

"Well," replied the woman, "his basic physical abilities are at the human physical maximum for someone of his age, strength, agility, reflexes…the maximum norm. But his regeneration and metabolism is at least Level Five."

"Jeez, what the hell does it take to kill this guy?"

"A lot," said the rough voiced guy. "I punched the bastard at full strength an hour ago, knocked him out cold, broke his jaw, and knocked out several teeth. The teeth have grown back, the jaw's pretty much healed, and all he has is a bruise that will probably be gone in a couple hours."

"Shit…no wonder Utopia wants this guy."

"He's also wanted for various crimes by Interpol," the woman said. Jean felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "Open your eyes, Renard," she said. "We know you're awake."

Jean did as he was told and saw a blond standing next to his bedside. Behind her, he saw the large black man with the rough voice and a smaller white man, all three were wearing black suits that basically screamed 'AGENT'."

"Hello," Jean said to the woman, trying to put as much charm as he could in his voice; after all, she wasn't bad to look at. "And who might you be?"

"Agent Richards, Project Utopia," the woman said.

"No first name?"

"Not to you," the woman snapped back. "Jean-Paul Renard, you're under arrest for reckless endangerment, several accounts of theft, assault, and murder."

"Whoa…murder? Who did I murder?"

"Four members of the Protectors, not to mention the various civilians that were killed from the collateral damage."

"WHAT?" Jean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Says who?"

"According to various eyewitnesses who saw you descend upon the scene with that little glider contraption of yours...which by the way...is stolen property."

"Excuse me?" Jean couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You think I did this? What about the armored guy that brought the building down?"

"What armored guy?" Richards asked.

"You know, the guy with the weird jet-pack and boot-jets, had these funky gauntlets that radiated a blue energy...and some nasty ballistic weapons...that guy?"

The three agents looked at Jean in disbelief.

"Oh c'mon! You gotta' be kidding, I didn't do this!"

"No one saw a man in armor, Renard," said the black man who cracked his knuckles menacingly. "The only people they found on the scene were you and Blazestone. We figure you tried to finish her off, but she managed to bring the building down on you.

"What!?! I'm sorry, do they treat mass stupidity when they recruit Utopia agents? Because your theory is a little fucked up and one hundred percent wrong! Look, ask Blazestone...I saved her ass from that other guy, and she recognized him." He tried to lunge forward against his restraints and was rewarded with a wave of dizziness that sapped his strength. "Whoa...spinning room...not cool."

"Oh shit," said the scrawny white agent. "He's spiking again!"

"Damn," said Agent Richards. "Was hoping it wouldn't get this messy."

"Fuck you, bitch," Jean said. He lost all feeling in his limbs, but his mind was starting to clear up; a sure sign his rapid healing was working overtime to flush the drugs out of his system. "I'll be out in a few minutes, and then I'm going to shove these tubes-"

He was cut off again as the obsidian black fist slammed into his face again. This time, he was thankful for the drugs, because it actually dulled the pain of the impact, but his head still snapped to the side and he heard something crack. However, he didn't lose consciousness.

"Uh-oh," said the black man. "He's not going down."

Richards sighed, calmly pulled a silenced pistol out of her jacket, and then proceeded to pump several rounds into Jean's chest.

Jean's body twitched and spasmed as the bullets entered his body, hitting his lungs and heart. "You...fucking...bitch," he managed to wheeze before falling back on the bed, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

"What's his status, Moore?" Richards asked as she loaded a new magazine into her pistol.

"Okay, that should keep him down for awhile and I just turned up the 'mox on him...still can't believe he was able to take a solid punch from Jenkins and survive you shooting him."

"All the more reason to get him transferred back to Utopia," Richards said as she checked Jean's restraints. "Jenkins, radio the others, tell them to get the chopper over here now and to make sure we have heavy doses of 'mox available."

The black man nodded and did what he was told. A few seconds later, he closed his cell-phone and looked back at her. "They'll be here in ten minutes. Security detail has cleared out the rest of the floor. Aside from Renard, we're the only ones in this section."

"Good." Confident that Renard was secure, Richards started to push Jean's bed towards the door. "Now let's get this piece of shit to the roof."

* * * * *

His world was blur of lights and muffled sound, barely anything was registering, although one thought did register on Jean's mind.

_Damn...this is some really good shit...swirling lights and blackness...._

"Earth below us," he started to sing, not fully in control of his faculties due to the overload on the medications, "drifting, falling, floating weightless, coming hooooooooooooooooooome, hooooooooooome, hoooooooooooooooooome."

"Will somebody please shut him up!" Agent Richards snapped before turning to Moore who was fiddling with the bags of moxinoquantimine and other sedatives that were supposed to keep Renard silent.

"I'm trying," Moore said. "It's as if his body's immune system just kicked it up a notch." He readied a syringe filled with a faint green substance. "Okay, let's see what happens when I give him some-"

Agent Moore's head suddenly exploded, splattering Jenkins and Richards with blood and brain matter.

"Oh yeah!" someone shouted, their voice echoing down the hospital corridor. "One eumetal explosive shell through the agent's head...maximum splatter!"

Richards and Jenkins barely had time to register a man in blue medical scrubs, packing a heavy auto-pistol in one hand and wielding a short sword in the other before he suddenly jumped onto a nearby gurney and started riding it down the corridor like a surf board, firing as he approached them.

"Let's go killin' now, everybody's learnin' how," the intruder sang, "c'mon grab your nine-mils with meeeeeee!"

"Go!" Jenkins yelled to Richards as he charged the assassin, his ebony skin hardening to a shiny obsidian lair. "Okay, pal, end of the line."

Nicholas DeYorke managed to roll with the impact when the shiny black monster tackled him. Unfortunately, he didn't roll enough to prevent the bastard from landing on him which crushed his ribcage. "Ow," he managed to gasp. "That...hurt...a little."

Agent Jenkins got up off the ground, grabbing Nick by his throat. "You just killed a Utopia agent, boy," he growled, slamming Nick face first into a wall. "Which means I can use lethal force on you." He then threw Nick was down the corridor several feet where he landed on a cart loaded down with urine samples.

"Okay," Nick said as he stumbled back to his feet. "I'm pissed...oh...bad pun." Then he suddenly spun, releasing the short sword in his hand at the last possible second as Agent Jenkins charged him again.

Agent Benjamin Jenkins was a force to be reckoned with. His training, combined with the ability to turn his skin into black stone made him an almost unstoppable force. Unfortunately, that only affected his skin which would have easily deflected the blade.

However, the blade had no problem penetrating his eye and continuing straight into his brain. Thankfully, he didn't suffer long, just a couple seconds before he dropped to the ground, his body involuntarily twitching a few seconds longer before going still.

"And then there was one," Nick said as he slowly made his way towards Agent Richards who pulled out her pistol and started firing. Nick stumbled back a few feet as the bullets slammed into him. "You're out of luck, lady," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Renard's not the only one with a fancy healing factor."

"Hey," Jean said half-groggy as he pushed himself up slightly out of the hospital bed. "I know that voice."

On instinct, Richards turned and fired a couple rounds into Jean's chest again...a mistake that cost her her life as Nick suddenly appeared behind her and snapped her neck.

"Hello, Jean," Nick said, stepping back to let the dead Utopia agent drop to the ground. "How ya been?"

"Right now...I feel reaaaaaaally good," Jean said, swaying slightly before looking down. "Oh fuck...she shot me again."

"Yeah, she did, but thanks for the distraction."

"Don't mention it....um...why are you here?"

"Oh, to kill you."

"Ah, good luck with that," said Jean. "You tried that once already."

"True." Nick nodded in agreement as he reached into his scrubs and pulled out a tiny device. "Which is why I got myself one of these."

"That looks like one of my thermite tabs."

"It _**is**_ one of your thermite tabs," Nick replied. "I stopped by your pad before I 'ported here. I figure I'll burn you to a crisp, then run you through a wood chipper, that should kill you." He then stopped as he saw the thoughtful look on his fellow mercenary's face. "I gotta' admit, Jean, you seem to be taking this rather well."

"I think it's the drugs," Jean replied. "I feel too good to care right now."

"Ah, well, at least you got a good high out of it."

"And you'll make a nice shield," Jean said as his right arm suddenly broke free of its restraints and grabbed Nick, pulling him close just in time to get impaled by a short-spear.

Nick looked down at the piece of metal protruding from his chest, a look of bemusement on his face. "Oh...shit...Totentanz," he said as Jean dropped him, allowing him to land on his knees, the tiny thermite tab dropping harmlessly into Jean's waiting hand.

Jean looked up at the black clad elite with the golden skull helmet and smiled. "Oh goody," he chuckled, not sure if it was of his own accord if it was still the drugs. "My morning S&M session is about to begin."

"Time to die, Renard," rasped Kleisner. "I am a professional, but I will enjoy this."

Jean waited until the German mercenary lunged forward, then rolled aside as he crushed and tossed the tiny thermite tab he had palmed off Nick up in the air. As the elite's other spear impaled the bed, the thermite tab suddenly exploded, engulfing Kleisner in a ball of flame and throwing him backwards several feet before he slammed into a wall.

"Ow, that's gotta' hurt," said Nick, stumbling back to his feet and pulling the short-spear out of his body and then impaling Jean through the chest with it, pinning him to the hospital bed and causing the man to scream in pain. "And I bet that hurt too," he laughed wickedly. "Stick around, Jean, I'll be finishing you shortly, but first...let me deal with the annoying Aryan thug with an attitude problem."

"Fuck...you...Nick," Jean managed to choke out, more blood coming out of his chest. "Shit," he wheezed. "I...think...that...actually...hurt...."

"That's the idea," Nick said. He took a moment to study Jean, making sure he wasn't going anywhere for at least the next few minutes. He paused for a moment and sniffed the air for a moment. "Damn...smells like someone's been cooking bratwurst." Then he turned his attention to Kleisner who, despite being badly burned, was starting to get up. "Oh, goody, 'Tanzi! You're still kicking! I was kind of hoping you'd show up to take Jean down." Nick opened his hand and there was a brief flash of green light as an auto-pistol suddenly appeared. He pulled the trigger and several high-velocity shells ripped through Kleisner's legs. "Yeah, the pot on Jean is worth five or six million, but can you imagine how my resume' is going to look when they find out that I offed you as well?"

Kleisner didn't cry out as his legs out gave out from underneath him. Yes, he felt pain, but his anger at the arrogant upstart drowned that out. "That isn't going to happen," he said, his voice still ice cold.

"Wow." Nick didn't hide his amazement. "I gotta' admit, you're fucking impressive. I just turned your lower legs to hamburger and you still project that aura of intimidation and all-around bad-assery...I'm almost pissing myself." He then paused and sniffed his arm for a moment. "Oh...no, never mind, that's just from the urine cart that Utopian thug threw me into." He then pointed the pistol at Kleisner's head. "I know you have rapid healing abilities as well, but nowhere near Jean or myself, so I'm guessing a few high-velocity rounds through the brain isn't something you'll be recovering from."

BLAM!

Nick stumbled forward for a second, aware of new pain in his back and chest. "That's weird," he said glancing down at the pistol in his hand. "I don't remember firing this-"

BLAM!

Fire shot up his spine and he lost all feeling in his legs before he fell to the ground, dropping his own gun. He looked up and saw a man in his mid-twenties with light brown hair looking down at him. "Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

The response he got was the barrel of the pistol in his face.

BLAM!

And then...oblivion.

* * * * *

Jason Miller stepped over DeYorke's body and emptied the rest of his weapon's magazine into Totentanz. He knew that both men would eventually recover, but he and Renard would be long gone by then. He then walked over to where Renard was impaled.

"Renard," he said, lightly slapping the man on the side of the face. "I know you're not dead...say something."

"No," the other man groaned. "Don't wanna'."

Jason grabbed the now bloodstained short-spear by the handle. "Okay, this might hurt a little," he said before pulling the spear out of Jean's chest.

"FUUUUUCCCCCK!" Jean screamed before dropping to the ground. He coughed up blood for a few seconds as his chest wound started to seal up. "Dammit, that hurts."

"Good," Jason snapped. "That means you're still alive and your healing ability is still functioning."

Jean pulled himself up to his feet. "Damn straight," he snarled. "And now I'm going to beat the shit out of you until you tell me what's..." He stumbled forward a couple steps and then dropped to his knees. "Oh..fuck...not again. Legs...feet...work for me, Daddy needs to beat shit out of mysterious stranger."

Jason shook his head and helped the groggy man back to his feet. "Shit, they must have put a gallon of 'mox into you. C'mon...we gotta' move."

"Where we goin'?"

"Away from here," Jason said. "It's not safe."

"No kidding," Jean winced as his rescuer helped him down a corridor. "I fucking hate hospitals...and where are we going again?" Jean looked up just in time to see a sign on the door they were approaching. "Why are we going to the laundry are-"

He never finished his sentence. Instead, the last thing he saw was the butt of Jason's pistol slamming into his face. His last thought, however, was a very odd one.

_Dammit, why do people keep hitting me in the face?_


End file.
